


some bloom, others bleed

by babybun



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4927315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybun/pseuds/babybun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh will need more than a bouquet of flowers from Chris to fully forgive him, or to even to slightly recover from the horrors that took place at Blackwood Pines. </p><p>The physical scars will eventually heal, but the metaphorical ones will last a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some bloom, others bleed

 

**i.**

 

Chris' throat ran embarrassingly dry, and his chest heaved with raw anxiety. To be honest, he was being admittedly more cautious than was needed, but whilst the hammering heart-beat pounded madly against his rib-cage, and the bend of his fingertips wound tightly around the familiar bouquet of crisp, white roses, patient door stood muley upon him, his brain whirred and rushed wildly.

It had been three entire months since the events that had surpassed at Blackwood Pines, and his best friend, and crush; Josh had been rescued from the mines during his transaction into turning into a wendigo. They'd gotten lucky, the police, medics and even Chris himself were informed. They'd discovered him feasting ravenously upon the rotting flesh of the Washington's past caretaker, and the very sight of it caused many officers to vomit or even chicken out. Upon being dragged into hospital kicking and screaming, Josh was soon, but reluctantly -- patched up.

 _Physically,_ sure, but not at all mentally. He remained an empty shell of a man and not at all the bubbly extrovert he was known at, being the first to crank out the beer or sound off the booming music. 3rd grade seemed like a distant memory nowadays, and all of the friends would've given anything for it to subside back into simplicity. The loneliness of it. Matt's abrupt disappearance, Jessica's brutal death, and Mike's mental break down and relaxant on alcohol were all becoming an unimportant blur.

All that mattered was that Josh recovered, no matter how long the final outcome took to occur. So, with that thought in mind, slumped and shivering Chris hops cowardly from one sable sneaker to the other, smoothing out the sweaty sheen of his palms against denim-blue jeans. Thereafter, one rolled knuckle thrusts upward to rest practically an inch away from the rosewood frame, the slide of his fingertips feeling the wood emit a warmth he'd not felt in a long time.  

The _next_ time Chris raises his fist to plan on tapping it lightly against the slab, he doesn't hesitate. 

Sure enough, the next few bundle of moments are encircled tightly together, and the blond can barely make light of it. Hospitals had always freaked him out -- the smell, the seriousness, the cold exterior. Yet, once he's encased into a bundle of artificial warmth and mustard-yellow lighting, taking a broad step into the patient room, the entirety of his world crumbles and flutters into pieces around him. Young Joshua, is not at all asleep or unconscious like he'd thought -- not a bit.

Propped sternly up against a cluster of fluffed cushions, russet curls sticking up at all angles atop his scalp, sparkling pupils pinned to the door and eagerly awaiting; the one and only signal running relays is " _oh shit_ ". Sea-foam ground tinted with granite pieces, and a petite, mahogany coffee table resting at the head of the dull bed, topped with a few generic " _Get Well Soon_!" cards and tokens of acknowledgement. Stenches of hand-sanitizer and lemon-cleaner circles itself around Chris' nostrils, but that is not his main concern.  

Josh looks well and truly pissed off, lightly-tanned arms folded stubbornly over his rising-and-falling hospital gown, and the glass pane window revealing a navy-blue night behind his head proves as some kind of comfort. Once the brunette's narrowed irises trail over the laced bouquet of roses, his maroon eyebrows furrow inward and collapses over forehead creases. 

Shortly thereafter, the patient clutches a withering palm to his heart and punches out the next few syllables in a monotone. " _Oh, thy Romeo. Has thoust come to rescue me from my certain doom_?" 

Within the painfully short section of time that Chris is allowed to study and process the room, he's already considering slipping to his knees and begging for forgiveness. He deserved to be roasted, and punished for not keeping in touch, but he'd simply thought that Josh would " _josh_ " it off and chuckle the night away, but alas, that is not the case. Still, his partly-mutated lips had been stitched up, trapping the over-grown and slicing teeth behind a wad of flesh, and the blond had actually thought it looked pretty awesome.

The rest of the group, or what remained of it -- Sam, Mike, Emily and Ashley -- quietly thought that it made him look like a vampire for Halloween day in and day out. Granted, they were allowed to be evidently furious at him for the events, or the " _prank_ " that he'd caused back at the lodge, but Josh was ill. He'd been refusing to take his antidepressants and the doctors had to pretty much choke him with them. 

" _Joking_." The bronze-head proclaims in an almost delightful manner, and he sarcastically thrusts his tanned palms upwards in surrender. "You're no Montague, Christopher, but you're still a fucking _dickhead_." 

He cranes his neck to face an obscure, graphite painting slid onto the vanilla-white wall and lets his breath hitch. Jesus, he looked so tiny and fragile in that teal hospital gown, skinny and skeleton legs shoved underneath a cheap blanket, dull pupils sunken against sockets. One side of Chris would love to pull Joshua into a reassuring and cozy cuddle, but the other side if way too shy and fidgety to do so. instead, he offers a small and unsure shrug.

"I'm sorry. I've been dealing with a lot lately." 

_Bad move._

When the brunette hastily snaps towards his friend with an annoyed frown, pearly whites practically grinding against one another in a fit of bite-the-tongue, it sends chills and shivers along the bumps of Chris' spine, and he'd give anything to rewind just a few timid seconds to correct it. Nothing would quench the rage Josh thirsted, as his off-tan digits encircled one another angrily, taking a clump of quilt with it.

"You think _you've_ been through a lot, Chris?" He challenges, fury sparking a candle in the abyss of his irises.

"Trying walking in my shoes for a fucking _day._ Waiting for your best friend to _finally_ come and rescue you from _Hell_ , being pinned down and _smothered_ with a batch of new pills, having all kinds of therapy that do _shit all,_ being surrounded by the stench of _vomit_ and _shit_ , and constantly ponder about what you could have done to prevent your sisters' _death_. Have you experienced _any_ of that? Have you experienced that _pain_ , Chris?"

A harsh pause, and tension fills the suddenly cold and unforgiving room. "No."

"Right." He turns away with a triumphed scoff, "that's just because you don't understand that pain exists for another reason; it's also another way of telling you that you should stop what you're doing." 

Chris' mouth is agape, and he runs a shaky, milky-white palm through the fringe of his mousy-blonde strands. The cotton hem of his navy jumper rests at an uneven angle, and the frames of his thick glasses keep pushing further and further down the bridge of his nose. What exactly do you say to your best friend -- or "bro" -- after three months of nonexistent contact? No e-mails, not even a text or half-assed call. Truly, facing Josh again would simply be reliving the old memories of the cabin. It was like reliving your worst nightmare.

"How's university?" Josh suddenly inquires, flipping out from underneath the slumped duvet, swinging his tanned legs over the edge of the mattress and letting his bare feet collide with the tiled flooring. The second he does so, a visible shudder traces his entire being, but he dismisses it silently and stumbles over toward the ivory-painted window. Chris should probably offer assistance, but is too flushed with embarrassment, and instead, settles on watching his friend tug the frame open in one, slick movement and letting in a soft breeze of early evening air. 

The strangest thing is that his question actually sound sincere, and that very fact makes Chris feel even more guilty. Still, his crystal-blue pupils stay marked to the shuffling brunette, scanning as he darts a set of fingertips underneath the second pillow to reveal a hidden lighter and poorly-rolled cigarette. This follows suite by him flicking the metallic coil expertly, and guiding the tiny tangerine-orange flicker of a flame underneath darkened tar. It lights instantly, and he inhales a vast puff of nicotine.

When Chris to continues to stare in passive-aggressiveness and fails to answer his previous question, Josh cocks one perfectly-lined eyebrow.

"'Sup, bro? You want one? Only got one but you can mooch mine--" 

"No." The blond interjects rudely, pacing over towards the hospital bed sadly and collapsing upon it. Rather, the crumple of multi-colored blankets is rather comfortable, and he soon finds himself flailing atop them, making his aching body rather adjusted and letting the bouquet of roses loosen from his quaking fingertips. "Nah dude, I gotta drive home."

He prays Joshua doesn't notice the blooming petals, but as just like old times, he's always been observant.

"Those for me?" 

A nod of encouragement, and one stuck limb shrouds itself over Chris' cringing features. The brunette takes another dragged out and much-need puff of the paper-killer, letting a cloud of the drug leave his poised lips and flutter back out through the ajar window. It's a mechanic that continues until the cigarette is down to barely a nub, but instead of tossing it somewhere unimportant beyond the pane, he letters it reside in the front pocket of his gown. When Chris sports him a confused look, it's Josh's turn to offer a weak shrug.

"Might need some extra filling for the next one. Zoey at the reception sneaks them in for me, ya' know. Killer rack, too, thank my lucky stars."

"Only been away for a couple of months, and you're already flirting with other people?" The nervous nerd chuckles, lolling back against the pillowed duvet in beckoning relxation and resting his pounding scalp there. It's a sensation that is oddly icy but also kindly welcoming, and it soothes his racked nerves. "Tch, tch. I'm disappointed in you, bro."  

"Hey." Josh chips, tawny brows narrowing inward seriously as he tugs the window shut with a coarse and bone-chilling _slam_ , before joining Chris on the bed in a cross-legged position, thin legs bopping up in down in silent agony and anxiety. " A lot can change in a few months." He gestures towards his stitches, the slight off-porcelain of sharpened molars peeking out from behind.  

"Like these." 

Chris had been trying his absolute not to mention the protruding scars, simply eyeing them from a distance and being confronted with haunting images of Blackwood Pines. Now, angling and turning his shortbread-blonde head of hair to face Joshua, he sports the best empathetic and sympathetic look he can. "Is it healing okay?" 

Josh stares up at the dusty ceiling, unmoving and unreacting for several seconds. "The ones on my lips? They're healing fine. But the mental ones, Chris, they're gonna stay a fucking _lifetime_ , and I have no idea how to handle them."

"We'll do it _together_ then." 

Any normal person would simply scoff at the seemingly faux and forced syllables that left the geek's lips, ripping themselves from his throat, but the hint of realism and sincerity was too great to ignore. Before anything else could surpass, Josh gently cupped his lightly-bronzed palm over Chris' cotton-white digits, cradling the nubs and reassuring them, even if he were the one who needed it most. 

"I _know_ we will." 

With that in mind, the two of them attempt to close the crisp air separating their wanton lips. Once furious buds clash with sweet and delicate ones, it's a fiery roar of both pain, agony and excitement that runs courses throughout both of them; lips, teeth and tongue. The roses are not of any concern, and neither are the numerous nurses or doctors that could unknowingly waltz in any singular second. A sheepish whimper stirs between one of them at a later point, but neither know who it came from, and didn't really _care_ , either. 

Chris smirks against Josh's lips when they abruptly pull away, foreheads tilted close. "I _guess_ this means I'm forgiven, then?" 

"Ha." Josh mimics sarcastically, and almost with the glimmer of a glare lingering in his stare. "You can show up with all of the _fucking _flowers in the world, Christopher, but it won't replace the fact that you abandoned me for three damn months."__

Chris, once more, sheepishly slips from his left sole to the other atop the cotton mattress, cerulean orbs glued to the tiled, hospital floor in silent shame.

None of these roses mattered to Joshua, and they never _would _.__

Josh smirks. "I know the rest of the group have been asking about me. What have they interrogated you about, bro?" It's a triumph when Chris flushes, as if he has succumbed to the other's clutches.

"What I taste like? How I smell? My brand of underwear?"

Josh never touches him, he wouldn't. Not yet. He just needs to get this off of his chest.

After all, no matter what, these flowers were for _Joshua Washington_ , and whether he wanted them or not, it didn't change that they belonged to him. And _only_ him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on: [ [x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncN0SMIg0gM)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](http://www.oddbt.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter.](https://twitter.com/oddbot_)


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